Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess

Author's Note:

This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)

ActVI

The Shadows

Chapter 63: Quest in Motion

South of Imladris, September 21th 3018 T.A

The sun was high above the dense canopy of the woods as the group rode south of Rivendell, the warm light filtering through the leaves and casting dappled shadows on the ground below. The horses moved at a steady pace, their hooves creating a rhythmic, soft thud against the earthen path. Legolas led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape ahead, every now and then turning to check on his companions.

Elladan rode beside him, his posture relaxed but attentive, the reins of his dark horse held loosely in his hands. The breeze gently rustled his long, raven hair, which was partially tied back. He turned his head slightly to glance at Legolas, his curiosity evident.

"Legolas, tell us more about this Forge of Eregion," Elladan began, his voice carrying easily across the stillness of the woods. "We know it's steeped in mystery, but the details have always eluded us."

Legolas glanced over at his friend, the sunlight highlighting the gold and silver in his hair. "The Hidden Forge is one of Celebrimbor's last creations, shrouded in secrecy even from many of his kin. It was said to be a place of unmatched craftsmanship, where not only weapons but also artifacts of power were made," he explained, his tone thoughtful as if recalling ancient tales told long ago.

"Celebrimbor," Elrohir interjected from behind them, riding beside Xena, "the greatest smith of the Second Age, and the one responsible for crafting the Rings of Power. It was in Eregion where he and his people forged three of those rings—Vilya, Nenya, and Narya. And it is there that my father's ring, Vilya, was created."

"Vilya, the Ring of Sapphire," Elladan added, his voice reverent as he turned his gaze ahead. "The most powerful of the three. Fashioned of gold and set with a great blue stone, it has kept Rivendell a sanctuary against the shadow. Hidden from Sauron's gaze, even as his darkness encroaches."

Xena, riding on Chubbie just behind them, listened intently, her brows furrowed. She wasn't familiar with the intricacies of the Elven history, especially not with the making of the Rings of Power. Her curiosity got the better of her. "You said there were three rings for the Elven-kings. What happened to the other two?"

Legolas's voice dropped to a more intimate tone as he answered her, his words measured and respectful. "The three rings were crafted by Celebrimbor, free from Sauron's influence. When it was discovered that the One Ring existed to control them, they were hidden away to keep them safe."

"Nenya, the Ring of Water, resides with Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien," Elrohir continued, his tone carrying pride for his kin. "It is made of mithril and set with a gem of purest white, known as adamant. The ring enhances her power to protect Lothlórien, preserving its beauty and keeping the shadow at bay."

Xena nodded, taking it in. "And the third one, Narya?"

"Narya, the Ring of Fire," Elrohir answered, "was given to Círdan, the shipwright. He, in turn, gave it to Gandalf when he arrived in Middle-earth. It is said to inspire hope and courage, a fitting gift for one who has fought so long against the darkness."

Xena's brow furrowed. "What about Thranduil? Doesn't he have a ring too?" She knew enough of Mirkwood to know that it was not the haven of light that Rivendell or Lothlórien was reputed to be.

Legolas's expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features. "No," he said quietly, bitterness underlying his words. "Mirkwood stands without such aid. My father's halls have faced the darkness head-on for centuries, unaided by the power of the rings. We have fought our battles alone, our strength forged in constant strife."

Elladan, sensing the tension rising, shifted the conversation with a slight smile. "Indeed, the Woodland Realm is known for its resilience and strength. Some might say that such strength is a kind of power in itself—one that no ring could ever bestow."

Legolas shot him a sidelong glance, his eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and amusement. He chose to let the comment pass, not wanting to revisit old arguments. Instead, he turned his focus back to their journey. "The Forge of Eregion lies in a region long abandoned, near the Misty Mountains. It is said that the entrance to the forge is concealed, hidden by both magic and nature. Few have ventured there, and fewer still have returned."

The path they followed was narrow and winding, the woods around them growing denser as they progressed. The trees were tall and ancient, their branches interwoven overhead, creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into a soft, green glow. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of pine and earth. The horses moved gracefully, their ears flicking occasionally at the sounds of birds and rustling leaves.

As they rode, Xena couldn't help but admire the effortless way the elves moved, even on horseback. Legolas, in particular, seemed almost a part of his steed, his posture relaxed yet alert. His horse, a sleek, silver-grey stallion, moved with a fluid grace, as if understanding his rider's every thought. Elladan's mount, a dark bay, matched its rider's calm, controlled demeanor, while Elrohir's chestnut gelding carried him with an energy that mirrored the elf's own vibrant spirit.

The journey took on a rhythm of its own as they continued. The elves spoke in soft tones, their voices blending with the sounds of the forest, while Xena absorbed the tales they shared. It was a peaceful ride, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation that buzzed between them. Each of them knew that their destination was shrouded in mystery and peril, a place lost to time and fraught with dangers unseen.

"Legends say," Legolas continued, his voice carrying through the quiet of the woods, "that Celebrimbor himself sealed the forge before his fall, protecting the artifacts within from falling into Sauron's hands. To find it would mean retracing steps lost to history and uncovering secrets that have lain dormant for centuries."

Xena's gaze lingered on the elf prince as he spoke, his words painting a vivid picture of a time long past. There was a passion in his voice, a reverence for the stories of old that resonated with her own desire for adventure and discovery.

"And you think we can find it?" she asked, a hint of a challenge in her tone.

Legolas turned in his saddle to look back at her, his eyes meeting hers with a quiet intensity. "I believe we must try. For you, it is a chance to find a weapon worthy of your strength. For us…" he paused, his gaze thoughtful, "it is a way to honor the past, to remember what was lost and perhaps, in some small way, to reclaim it."

The group fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds those of hooves against the earth and the occasional rustle of leaves. They rode on, bound by a shared purpose, each of them feeling the weight of their history, their hopes, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

As they continued along the path, the sunlight began to wane, casting the woods in a softer, amber glow. The air was cool, the scent of pine and damp earth mingling with the crispness of the autumn breeze. Legolas rode ahead, his eyes scanning the horizon, the familiar stoic expression etched on his face. His back was straight, his posture proud and composed, a reminder of his royal lineage and the burdens he bore. Xena watched him quietly, her thoughts swirling in the wake of their earlier conversation.

She had learned much about the elves since her journey began—about their history, their legends, and the intricacies of their world. But there were still aspects of their culture, particularly that of the Woodland Realm, that were shrouded in mystery for her. The idea that Thranduil's people stood alone against the encroaching darkness was something she hadn't fully grasped until now. Mirkwood, with its endless shadows and lurking dangers, was a place she had survived, but not without understanding the full weight of the peril it represented.

Her gaze flickered back to Legolas. He carried himself with a dignity that masked his inner turmoil. Today, she had seen a flash of something more—a bitterness, an anger that he seldom let surface. And yet, he had managed to sidestep an argument with Elladan, choosing silence over confrontation. It was a side of him she wasn't accustomed to, and it made her curious.

Xena nudged Chubbie forward, closing the distance between her and Legolas. When she was riding beside him, she kept her voice low, aware of the twins riding a short distance behind them. "You know," she began, "for someone who doesn't want to argue, you did a good job of holding back there."

Legolas turned his head slightly, his blue eyes flicking towards her before returning to the path ahead. "There is no point in arguing over what cannot be changed," he replied evenly, though his tone carried a hint of weariness.

"Really?" Xena pressed, her eyes narrowing as she studied his profile. "Because from where I was sitting, it looked like there was a lot you wanted to say but didn't."

Legolas's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching as he remained silent for a moment. "What would you have me say, Xena?" he asked quietly. "That my people have been left to fend for themselves? That we have faced horrors unimaginable while the rest of the world carries on, unaware or indifferent?"

Xena frowned, her gaze steady. "I'm not saying you should have said anything different. But I could see it in your eyes—you're angry. Why not let it out?"

Legolas let out a short, humorless laugh. "And what good would that do? My anger will not change the past. It will not bring back those we have lost, nor will it mend the rift between the Woodland Realm and the other Elven kingdoms."

She tilted her head, considering his words. "So, you just bottle it up? Pretend it doesn't bother you?"

His gaze snapped to hers, a flicker of irritation breaking through his calm facade. "You think I pretend, Xena?" His voice was low, taut with restrained emotion. "I have lived through centuries of this. Watched my home fall deeper into shadow while others speak of hope and light. I do not 'pretend.' I endure."

The sharpness in his tone took her aback, but she held her ground. "Endure, yes. But for how long? Until you break? Until there's nothing left but the bitterness?"

Legolas clenched the reins, his knuckles whitening. "You speak of things you do not understand," he said tightly. "Of a world that is not yours."

"That's where you're wrong," she shot back, leaning closer. "I know what it's like to be consumed by darkness, to fight battles you know you can't win. I've seen it, lived it. And I know what it can do to you if you don't face it."

"You know nothing of what it means to be an elf," Legolas said coldly, his eyes flashing with something akin to fury. "To watch your people wither, to see your homeland succumb to decay while you are powerless to stop it. We do not have the luxury of time, Xena. Our lives are long, but our suffering is endless."

Xena's heart ached at the raw pain in his voice, but she didn't back down. "Then don't let it consume you. Don't let it turn you into something you're not."

"And what do you think I am?" he asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "A warrior? A prince? I am neither, Xena. I am a relic of a fading world, bound by duty and haunted by guilt."

"Is that what you really believe?" she demanded, her voice rising. "That you're nothing more than a relic?"

He looked at her, his eyes dark and haunted. "What else is there?"

Her heart clenched at the hopelessness in his voice. "There's more, Legolas. There has to be. You have friends, people who care about you—who want to see you happy."

"Happy?" he repeated, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "There is no happiness left for me. Only the path I must walk."

"Then change the path," she urged, her voice fierce. "You don't have to do this alone."

"And what would you have me do?" he snapped, his frustration spilling over. "Abandon my people? Turn my back on everything I've fought for?"

"No," she said quietly, meeting his gaze. "But you don't have to fight alone, either. You have friends who would stand by you, if you'd let them."

He looked away, his shoulders tense. "I cannot ask that of you. Of any of you."

"You don't have to ask," she insisted, her voice softening. "We're here because we want to be. Because we believe in you."

Legolas fell silent, his gaze distant as he wrestled with her words. For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of their horses' hooves on the path, the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You do not understand, Xena. I have lost so much. Too much. To let myself hope again..."

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. "Then let us carry some of that weight with you. You're not alone, Legolas. You never have to be."

He looked at her, the fight draining from his eyes, leaving only a deep, aching sorrow. "I wish it were that simple," he murmured, his voice breaking.

"It can be," she whispered back, her heart aching for him. "If you let it."

They rode in silence after that, the tension between them fading into a companionable quiet. The woods around them seemed to breathe with the promise of change, the path ahead winding and uncertain. But for the first time in a long while, Legolas felt a small, fragile spark of something he had not allowed himself to feel in centuries. Hope.

Legolas felt the familiar weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, a burden he had carried for centuries. He had learned to mask his pain, to function in the daylight and fight as a warrior, while the nights consumed him in endless torment. But lately, something had shifted. Something he couldn't ignore.

The memory of the celebration still clung to him like a lingering scent—Xena's boldness, her strength, her willingness to confront him. The way she had looked at him across the fire, her eyes burning with defiance and understanding. It was unsettling. He had spent centuries mastering his control, his detachment. He was Thranduil's son, the prince of a realm overshadowed by darkness. Hope, happiness, love—these were luxuries he no longer allowed himself to consider.

But Xena had shattered the walls he'd so carefully constructed. She challenged him, pushed him to face things he had buried long ago. She made him think, even for a moment, that there could be something more than the endless cycle of battles and regrets. It was a dangerous thought, one he knew he should extinguish before it took root.

He glanced at her, riding beside him with a quiet intensity. She was strong, resilient—everything he admired and everything he feared. Because she saw him, truly saw him, in a way that few ever had. She saw past the mask, past the prince, to the broken soul underneath. And that scared him more than any battle he had ever faced.

The forest around them thickened as they rode deeper into the southern woods, the trees growing older and denser, their branches interwoven like a natural canopy that cast the path into shadow. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and the distant calls of night creatures echoed through the stillness. The horses moved with an easy grace, their hooves barely making a sound on the moss-covered ground. Chubbie, Xena's loyal companion, trotted along beside Legolas' stallion, her head bobbing slightly as she kept pace.

Elladan and Elrohir rode just behind, their laughter and banter adding a lightness to the journey that was otherwise marked by a contemplative silence. The twins, despite the weight of centuries and countless battles, seemed to carry an unshakeable joy within them, a resilience that shone even in the dim light filtering through the trees. They teased each other and reminisced about past adventures, their voices blending harmoniously with the natural music of the forest.

Xena watched them, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She had always admired the bond between the brothers—their unspoken understanding, their effortless camaraderie. It was something rare, something beautiful. And as she glanced at Legolas, riding in stoic silence ahead of her, she felt a pang of longing. He was part of their world, part of their circle of light, but always a little apart, a little distant.

As the day wore on, the shadows lengthened, and the forest floor turned from a carpet of soft moss to a tangle of roots and rocks. The terrain became more rugged, and they had to navigate carefully, weaving between thick trunks and overgrown foliage. Xena kept her eyes on Legolas' back, watching the way he guided his horse with an almost effortless grace, his body moving as one with the animal. He seemed more at ease out here, surrounded by nature, his senses alert and alive in a way they weren't within the confines of Rivendell.

Around them, the forest began to change, the trees thinning as they climbed higher into the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The air grew colder, and the wind picked up, whispering through the branches like a distant song. It was nearing midnight when Legolas finally raised a hand, signaling for them to stop.

"This is as good a place as any to make camp," he said, his voice breaking the quiet. They had reached a small clearing nestled between two ancient oaks, their branches arching overhead to form a natural shelter. A shallow stream gurgled nearby, its clear water glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Elladan and Elrohir dismounted with practiced ease, already beginning to unpack their supplies. Xena swung down from Chubbie's back, stretching her legs as she looked around. There was a peace here, a stillness that seeped into her bones, easing the weariness of the long ride.

"Not bad, Legolas," Elrohir remarked, tossing a bundle of firewood onto the ground. "You always did have a knack for finding the best spots."

Legolas offered a small smile, but his eyes were distant, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere. "We'll need to keep watch," he said, more out of habit than necessity. There was little danger in these woods, at least from physical threats. But old habits died hard, and Legolas was not one to take chances.

"I'll take first watch," Xena volunteered, her voice steady. She had noticed the shadows under Legolas' eyes, the weariness that he hid so well. He needed rest, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Elladan nodded, his gaze flicking to his brother with a knowing look. "We'll handle the fire and the camp. You two get some rest."

With a nod, Xena set about helping to prepare the camp. She laid out their bedrolls, her movements precise and efficient, while Legolas tended to the horses, ensuring they were secure and comfortable for the night. Elrohir, meanwhile, gathered stones to form a small fire pit, and soon the warmth of a crackling fire filled the clearing, the flames casting flickering shadows against the tree trunks.

It wasn't long before everything was in order. The camp was set, the horses were settled, and the fire burned brightly, its light a small beacon in the darkness. The twins lounged near the fire, their voices low as they spoke of memories and past adventures. Xena sat a little apart, her gaze fixed on the flames, lost in thought.

Legolas, however, did not join them. He stood on the edge of the clearing, his back to the fire, his eyes scanning the darkened forest. Xena watched him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rested lightly on the hilts of his knives. He was preparing himself, she realized—for what, she wasn't entirely sure, but it was something he did every night. He was bracing himself against the darkness, against the ghosts that haunted his sleep.

After a few moments, he turned, his gaze meeting hers. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something fragile and raw, but he masked it quickly. "I'll take a walk," he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire.

Xena wanted to say something, to reach out, but she knew he wouldn't accept it. Not yet. "Be careful," she said instead, her tone light, but her eyes serious.

He nodded, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "I always am."

And then he was gone, slipping into the shadows like a whisper of the wind. Xena watched him disappear, her heart heavy. She knew he was seeking his solitude, the space he needed to confront whatever demons awaited him in the night. She knew it was his way, that he had to fight this battle alone.

But it didn't make it any easier to watch him go.

Elladan's voice broke the silence, gentle but firm. "He'll be all right, Xena. He always is."

She turned to look at him, her expression uncertain. "Will he?"

Elrohir, who had been listening quietly, spoke up then, his voice soft but sure. "Legolas is stronger than most give him credit for. He carries a heavy burden, yes, but he's not alone. He has us. And he has you."

Xena nodded slowly, the words both comforting and painful. "I just wish he didn't have to fight so hard. I wish..."

"That he could find peace," Elladan finished for her, his eyes understanding. "We all wish that. But it's his journey, and he has to walk it in his own way."

Xena sighed, her gaze drifting back to where Legolas had vanished into the night. "I know. I just hope he finds what he's looking for."

"So do we all," Elrohir murmured, his voice low. "So do we all."

The fire crackled softly, its light warm and steady against the darkness. They sat in silence for a while, the stillness of the forest wrapping around them like a cloak. And though Legolas was far away, his presence lingered, a ghostly echo in the quiet night.

((Upcoming Chapter Sixty-Four))

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